


Delayed Gratification

by Siriusstuff



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Car Sex, Cora is disparaging, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski are the Same Age, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Human Hales, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant At All, Nudity, Old movie references, Oral Sex, Stiles feels frustrated, Teen Romance, anal fingering (sort of), brief mentions of canon characters - Freeform, family life, lots of Hales - Freeform, not a high school fic, not so shy Derek, rating is for last section, some OC Hales only mentioned, still a bit nerdy Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8558272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusstuff/pseuds/Siriusstuff
Summary: One thing after another interferes with Stile's and Derek's date night plans.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a 5+1 type of fic. I think maybe it's best described as "five things happen and then another thing happens."  
> The entire fic takes place in one evening.  
> I wrote this because I revel in the idea of Derek having a big family, so there are lots of Hales (and always will be!)  
> I've watched only episodes of the 7th Heaven series with Tyler Hoechlin in the cast, and then not all of those (because his character gets kind of annoying to me as the series goes on and the show over all is a lot weird.) I imagined young Derek in my fic as looking and acting like young Martin Brewer, minus the troubling issues.  
> If anyone reads this and thinks I've left something out in the tags, please let me know.

(5)

Looming and even a little ominous out there in the Preserve with no neighboring homes close by, the three-story Hale house might spook strangers but Stiles Stilinski was no stranger. He’d been Derek Hale’s beau now going on two months. He knew the house bustled with life inside, full of Hales.

So it was no surprise to hear children’s voices on the other side of the door when he knocked.

The surprise was Derek, opening the door only enough to get his head out. His hair looked messy—not stylishly messy either—and Stiles could see he was still in just a white undershirt.

But, “Hi, Stiles!” Derek greeted him with a glorious smile, bringing on a little flutter in Stiles’s chest.

Still it appeared Derek was keeping him out on the porch until two rug rats forced their way, their heads at least, into view. Then Stiles realized Derek was keeping them _in_.

“Who’re _you_?” a dark-haired little girl snapped as she glared at Stiles. “Derry, who’s that?”

“’Derry’?” Stiles mouthed silently.

Finally Derek opened the door wide but the two kids immediately blockaded Stiles from getting close to him.

“This is my…” Derek began, pausing but then finishing, “my boyfriend. His name is Stiles.”

He leaned forward enough to give his boyfriend a chaste peck of a kiss.

“Ewwww!” the little girl cringed. “Gross!”

“Kimmy! Stiles is my boyfriend. We can kiss.—We have a date.” Derek gave Stiles a puzzled look. “But you’re kind of early?”

“The movie’s at eight,” Stiles answered.

“The movie’s at nine oh five, actually,” Derek corrected with his usual exactness as well as gentleness.

That explained why he looked like he did, in his socks and threadbare jeans. He still looked appealing, but not exactly ready for an evening out. Stiles hadn’t even had the chance to feel swoony about Derek calling him “boyfriend” _twice_ and was trying to scrounge up some response to getting the movie time all wrong when, “ _Nooo!”_ Kimmy continued to complain. “We’re still _playin’!”_

“Kimberly!” Finally an older woman, no doubt another Hale Stiles had never met before, entered the foyer. “What are you carrying on about?”

“Derry can’t go! We’re play- _ying!”_ Kimberly emphasized. She leveled another glare at Stiles and scolded, “You’re too early!”

“Kim! Derek certainly _can_ go,” her mother cut in. “He has plans for the evening. And they don’t include the two of you!”

The other kid, a boy a little older than Kim, hadn’t said anything but appeared no more fond of Stiles than his sister.

The woman’s demeanor altered completely when she offered her hand to Stiles. “Sorry about them. I’m Jean. Derek’s cousin. Nice to meet you!”

“Stiles,” he offered meekly. “Nice to meet _you_.”

“Kim! Hugh! Find your shoes. We have to get going,” Jean ordered.

“Oh, _mommy_ ,” Kim groaned. “It’s not fair!” and she scowled at Stiles _again_.

Being seventeen Stiles tended to debate with himself whether he wanted kids of his own someday, with that special someone.

At that particular moment he put a checkmark in the _definitely not ever_ column.

But then he felt Derek’s arm across his shoulders as they entered the living room, and under its warm weight his thoughts turned happier and potentially more child-friendly.

Talia Hale looked like she’d been laughing as she greeted Stiles with a kiss on his cheek. Most of the Hales were kissers and huggers and Talia had begun welcoming Stiles into her home with a little kiss only a few weeks after he kept appearing in it, when she learned he was dating her youngest son.

Stiles wasn’t sure whether or not he still blushed after every one.

“You look very nice, Stiles,” Talia said. “ _That_ is a very nice shirt!”

“Thank you,” was all he replied, quashing the impulse to tell how Lydia had found it with him in a second hand clothing shop, and how she’d discerned it was a vintage shirt—from the ‘70’s—“ _the disco era, Stiles!”—_ and had insisted he buy it.

Instead Stiles wondered if Talia admired it because she remembered that era, and then he wondered if she’d ever disco danced, which he’d rather not visualize, thank you.

Fortunately by then Derek had gripped him by the shoulder and was tugging him away.

“Mom, I have to change clothes,” Derek announced. “—And I’m taking Stiles with me,” he added matter-of-factly as he guided Stiles, walking backwards, to the stairs.

Kim and Hugh had made no progress finding their shoes and were still underfoot, while Jean still stood poised to resume conversing with Talia, so Stiles felt his exiting with Derek to Derek’s room was possibly not as awkward as it could’ve been.

Of course his stuttering, “OK—I—Well—See ya later!” to the women helped not at all. However, he did manage not to bolt up the steps after Derek.

“You feel tense,” Derek said to him, after a few kisses, once they were standing in his room and in a comfortable embrace.

Derek smelled good, felt wonderful in Stiles’s arms. Nearly equal Derek’s height he rested his head against Derek’s as he explained, “It’s just my dad and me at home.” He felt he had a legitimate excuse to tense up, though Derek knew perfectly well already Stiles’s living situation. “Here there’s never less than a half dozen people in any given room at any given time.—It takes getting used to,” he sighed.

He left out the part where sometimes there were also tiny children who verbally attacked him upon entry to the House of Hale.

“Well,” Derek concluded, with a kiss in Stiles’s hair, “get used to it. There’s a lot of Hales. And they like you.” Another kiss. “Me most of all,” he grinned shyly.

Stiles grinned too. Running a gauntlet of Hales every visit was definitely worth it.

“I’m gonna take a really, really, really quick shower now. OK?” Derek informed him.

“Really, really, _really_ quick?” Stiles wanted to quip but then realized: “Wait, you’re leaving me alone?—With those kids right down there, right down those stairs? They hate me, Derek! They’re _after_ me. You realize you’re leaving me exposed to danger!”

Derek took a towel from a hook on the back of the door as he left the room. “I’ll barricade you in,” he offered calmly and just pushed the door closed. Then he opened it again immediately. “You didn’t spoil the movie for yourself looking it up on IMDB—did you?”

His exaggerated pouty sad face got Stiles’s guilty grin and a shrug in return.

(4)

How could Derek _not_ expect Stiles to look up the movie after he’d told him there was the “hint of love between two men” in it?

Among things Stiles didn’t know about Derek before dating him was his deep, nerdy love of old movies—not old movies as in, say, _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ or even _Willie Wonka & the Chocolate Factory_, but old as in _really_ old, black-and-white old movies.

So far Stiles had seen _Citizen Kane_ , _Duck Soup_ , and _Dr. Strangelove_ —all with Derek beside him in some theater that featured films like those every other weekend. Stiles still wasn’t exactly a fan, but he _was_ smitten with Derek when he gushed about these ancient flics.

For that night’s date they were going to see _Double Indemnity_ , with that “hint of love” thing. Derek’s tone of awe when he’d said “it’s classic _film noir_ , Stiles,” had nearly melted Stiles into a warm puddle. Derek was just too adorable in his passion for classic cinema, even if Stiles got a little bored sometimes (though when that happened he’d just lean his head on Derek’s shoulder or Derek would lean on his and any possible complaints vaporized.)

For their other dates Stiles chose where they’d go and even those nights showed him sides of Derek he’d never see at BHHS.

When they’d gone bowling Stiles hadn’t cared at all that Derek had bested him two out of three games. Derek got so focused, with the intense eyebrows and the frown in place every roll down the alley. He didn’t crow over his wins either, and when Stiles bowled a strike or made a spare Derek jumped up and down _with_ him as if they were on the same team, not competing.

Stiles had fared better, score-wise but not just score-wise, at the arcade, where Derek was a novice. There amongst the clamor of bells, buzzers and all the noises Stiles showed Derek how to handle a joystick, overlapping their hands on it. His interest in winning or even playing had taken second place to all the contact: His front against Derek’s back, little kisses on Derek’s neck, their heads close together just to be able to hear each other…

On their night at a fairground before summer’s end, not once had Derek refused to join Stiles on any ride, even if he got off those rides looking slightly green.

Best of all was that most of their dates ended with making out in the Jeep. True, Roscoe’s back seat was not a place two long-legged teens could really do much more than kiss and grope each other, but kissing and groping were _fine_ with Stiles, especially when it came to under the shirt and, on two recent occasions, in the pants.

Considering the traditional wholesome goodness of their dates—movies, bowling allies, malt shops too, probably, if malt shops still existed—those make-out sessions had surprised Stiles at first—though making out in back seats was traditional too, Stiles was aware. But he had only known Derek as the handsome, reserved, grade-A student at school, and he’d swear to god he’d overheard Derek address his mother as “mommy” the first or second time he found himself in the Hale’s household. Since then Stiles had learned his boyfriend was kind of an eagle scout, wrapped in a Mouseketeer, inside a nerd—who had an unexpected, secret carnal side.

Thought of that made Stiles sigh dreamily. He lay back on Derek’s bed only to spring right up when the bedroom door opened and Derek returned from his shower.

Stiles would have teased, “That really _was_ quick!” except no words could come out of his mouth because other than for the towel around his waist _Derek was naked_.

Stiles had never seen so much of him.

Only a few seconds passed while the two stared at each other. They were long seconds—long enough for the initially sheepish grin Derek wore when he’d entered to turn to biting his bottom lip. Then he tugged the towel more securely around himself.

“Stiles…?”

“You’re…” Stiles trailed off. The impulse to speak bottlenecked with the impulse to stare, the awareness it might be really impolite to stare, the appreciation of his boyfriend’s mostly bare, very muscley body and the realization that Derek was suddenly looking like something was bad-wrong.

That look got Stiles to his feet and just outside the bubble of personal space deemed proper in decent company. But his hands had stopped in mid air as if in mid-grasp.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Derek all but mumbled.

“Embarrass _me?_ — _You’re_ the one blushing—kind of all over,” Stiles replied and squinted his eyes shut, ridiculously tight.

Derek giggled, sounding relieved. “Why’re you—?”

Stiles knew what he was asking and just answered, “Is it—it’s not—Isn’t it rude to _stare_?”

He felt Derek’s hand take one of his and hold it against his chest, which felt still moist and quite warm.

“You can open your eyes, Stiles.”

Stiles did, immediately noticing pinkish blotches on Derek’s face and neck, which was as far down as he would dare look.

“I do this,” Derek explained, “When I’m up here by myself after I shower.—Get dressed in my room.”

Stiles wanted to point out that technically Derek was _not_ by himself at that moment, but chose to keep mum. Derek wasn’t finished speaking.

“And I thought, since we’re— _boyfriends_ —it’s OK to see each other—like this.”

There was another technicality in there but Stiles let go that one too, for the moment.

First he leaned as if over an invisible barrier to kiss his boyfriend’s face; it felt like an irresistible impulse. The scent of soap tickled his nostrils. Derek was smiling when Stiles leaned back.

“It’s _so_ OK, the OK-est thing ever,” Stiles assured. “Only, there’s some—imbalance here. I’m all, you know, _dressed_. And only _you’re_ —” He just waved his arm up and down the semi-nude Derek.

Really, Derek’s muscles weren’t bulky but they were no less defined: firm pectorals and ripples of abdominals.

“But we never get to be naked—together,” Derek countered, innocently somehow.

Stiles was dying. He blurted out, through a burst of both surprise and happiness, “We can get naked together!—I thought we were taking things slow!—I can’t _wait_ to get naked together!”

“We don’t have to take things slow.”

There was just no end to Derek’s surprises.

“ _Derek!”_ Stiles exclaimed. He really wished he could body-hug the guy but that would certainly aggravate the problem immediately addressed:

“ _OK!_ But how about we wait for a time when it doesn’t cause—an— _emergency_ in my pants!”

Derek sputtered out a laugh and looked right at Stiles’s crotch.

“Kinda like to _not_ go back downstairs with an obvious boner,” Stiles continued.

Derek snort-giggled that time, then held out his arm, an extended finger aimed right at Stiles’s clothing-covered dick.

Stiles leaped backwards.

“Uh— _doh_ —!” he stuttered.

“It’s _not_ ‘obvious,’” Derek deadpanned.

“ _Thanks_ , _boo!”_

“I didn’t mean—!”

“Just get dressed,” Stiles pleaded. “I’m gonna sit over here and stare out the window.” He parked himself on Derek’s bedside, facing the window on the opposite wall but covering his face with both hands.

On his closet door hung the shirt and pants Derek had already picked out for their date night. Without looking back where Stiles sat he shed his towel and reached for the black chinos, which he began pulling up his legs.

He heard Stiles pretty much gasp: “ _You’re not gonna put on underwear?”_

When Derek turned he saw Stiles most definitely not facing the window, his hands still on his face but parted wide.

“I thought you didn’t want to watch!” he chided, trying not to grin.

Stiles dropped his hands, his mouth wide but speechless. Then he slumped and said, “Commando? Really?”

Derek only shrugged, tipped his head to one side and nodded, quite adorably.

Hands back over his face Stiles groaned, “You’re _killing_ me.”

“I _thought_ you would appreciate it.”

“I _wish_ I could _show_ you how much I appreciate it!” Stiles answered but before he’d finished the statement Derek’s phone tootled. From his bed table he announced, looking at the screen, “It’s my mom.”

“Oh god!” Stiles cried, then hissed, “She knows everything!”

“Yes, Mom?” Stiles heard, limited to one half the conversation. “Yes, I’m—” Another pause, tightening Stiles’s breathing more. Then Derek looked at him as he said. “Yeah, OK. I’ll ask him. We’ll be right down.”

“ _What?”_ whooshed from Stiles’s mouth. “Should I jump out the window and make a break for my Jeep? She thinks we’ve been up here _fornicating_ , doesn’t she.”

Derek giggled again as he sighed, “Stiles… Do you want to have dinner?”

“ ** _What?_** _”_

(3)

Derek hurriedly donned a black polo shirt with narrow white horizontal stripes, his loafers, and then spent quadruple that amount of time getting his hair just right.

Stiles looked on, appreciation warring in his psyche with panic.

But his hard-on was down, at least. Not that Derek looked any less tempting, just no longer naked.

Descending the stairs Derek stopped. “Heck! I forgot to put on cologne!”

“You smell _fine_ ,” Stiles guaranteed, and he meant it, even if he’d spoken while scanning the room for Hales.

All the voices he heard came from the kitchen. When they reached there, “To the dining room, boys,” Talia instructed.

“Do we really have time?” Stiles squeaked, with the added hope that he’d also turned invisible.

“Stiles, dear,” Talia began, herding him and Derek exactly to where she intended, “Gramma Hale arrived and brought two roast chickens. Now I’m sure you have time to eat something before your movie.—Derek, your dad and Rory are on their way home but you two fix your plates and eat now.”

There was no arguing. And Stiles had to admit, _something_ smelled delicious.

The lofty Hale House had been built in the era when families were large and ate meals together. So there was a dining room and it was spacious, now furnished with a massive table to seat the many Hales. Kimberly and Hugh were already sitting at it, its mighty length dwarfing them, while their mom prepared their dinner plates.

Accustomed to a smaller scale everything, Stiles was a little awed. He’d learned to cook for himself and his dad after his mom died, and so had no idea what generations practiced at domestic arts could achieve in a short time. Not only was the table set for a small crowd, there was a platter heaped with chicken, there was stuffing too, potatoes au gratin, cranberry sauce and a bowl over-brimming with tossed salad.

It looked like a mini-Thanksgiving dinner.

Then, with a little basket of rolls hot from the oven, entered the matriarch herself. Gramma Hale was nothing like Stiles’s _babcia_ , who was five feet tall at most, white haired and actually apple-cheeked. Gramma Hale appeared somewhat the _grande dame_ , with salt-and-pepper coiffure, elegant demeanor, and undeniably a contributor to the proportions of certain of her grand-offspring.

Derek had greeted and kissed her fondly but Stiles didn’t know what to do. Bow and kiss her ring?

“Good evening to you, Stiles,” she intoned, then busied herself buttering rolls for the children, who’d started clamoring for them soon as they’d seen them.

Cora Hale, looking freshly scrubbed, came into the room and started filling her plate. She sat at the corner closest to her brother and Stiles.

“One of you dorks wanna pass me the gravy?” she muttered, low enough not to be heard by any authority figures present.

The gravy boat was between Stiles and Derek.

“Polite little ladies say _please_ ,” Derek taunted.

Stiles didn’t dare react. Cora Hale was fourteen, ferocious on her field hockey team, and Stiles was as cautious around her, at least while surrounded by her family, as he’d be with a giant snapping turtle.

“Smartass little shits get their butts kicked,” Cora sneered in response, even lower because Gramma Hale was nearer, and for that reason and no other reason Derek passed his little sister the gravy.

“Enjoying everything?” Talia was suddenly behind them. “We have iced tea—or would you like water? Or… fruit punch?”

Stiles had wondered what the weird red drink was that Kim and Hugh had.

“Everything’s great, Mrs. Hale,” Stiles managed to say, nonetheless sounding fatuous even to himself. “Thank you!”

Confirming Stiles’s fears, as soon as Talia left, Cora mocked, under her breath, “ _’Everything’s great, Mrs. Hale_ , _thank you,’_ ” in a distorted sing-song tone.

“ _Evil_ ,” Derek whispered at her, almost soundlessly.

Cora only stuck out her tongue, a much milder comeback than Stiles expected. Maybe worse was to follow.

“When can we get out of here?” he pleaded quietly as he could to Derek.

“It’s still early,” was the answer, not the one Stiles wanted.

If he thought about it—which he began to—maybe all the distraction was a good thing. Having just seen it get covered up Stiles was hyper-aware that beneath only a polo shirt and a pair of pants was his boyfriend’s perfect nakedness, seated right beside him. Without hovering mother and grandmother, without mean baby sister sniping at them, Stiles would be wondering if the table wasn’t in the way would Derek’s bulge be more conspicuous.—He’d definitely be trying to find out.—The threat of a wild erection springing up in public was considerably diminished under the circumstances—though not if he didn’t stop thinking about Derek naked.

There was plenty of time to get their date underway, Stiles comforted himself, especially if Derek said so. Stiles had snarfed down two packs of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and a soda before leaving his house, so an impromptu roast chicken dinner was nice even if not necessarily desired, but he hadn’t gorged himself either, so he could still inhale a huge bucket of popcorn and even more candy at the theater—if only they could get there.

“Derek’s boyfriend?” A small voice disrupted Stiles’s theater-snack reverie. He hadn’t been paying attention when Kim had been helped down from the other end of the table. Now she was standing by his chair and addressing him. He twisted around to look at her.

Kimberly recited carefully, “I’m sorry I was—” She glanced at her mother, standing near with Hugh, for the missing word.

“Rude to him,” Jean prompted.

“Rude to you,” Kim repeated, which would have been endearing and cute except she immediately followed up with: “You can kiss Derry if you want to.”

All the ladies snickered knowingly. Stiles felt his ears heat up. He could only imagine Derek’s face.

“Well…” Talia commented.

Like a demonic voice in his head Stiles heard Cora’s guttural, drawn out “ _Guuh_ ” of disdain.

“Thank you, Kim,” Stiles responded, his last ditch effort at dignity, but Kim had already lost interest and was walking away.

Just then Derek’s dad and behind him Derek’s older brother appeared in the dining room doorway. There were black streaks on the older man’s forearms.

“Don’t either of you come near this table before you clean up!” Talia scolded.

“Wouldn’t think of it, dearest,” Dad Hale replied before turning to face Stiles.

“Stiles? That’s your jeep outside, yes?” he asked with a smile.

Voice quavering the tiniest bit, Stiles answered, “Yes?”

“You’ve got a flat tire.”

(2)

Stiles stood next to Derek, who, while his father and brother jacked up the Jeep and were removing its tire, held a big flashlight high to illuminate their work space.

This would be his and Stiles’s total combined contribution to the effort.

Malcolm Hale had decreed there was no reason why his youngest son and youngest son’s boyfriend should ruin their nice date-night clothes, especially since he, and Rory too, were already grimy after spending all afternoon helping a family friend repair her lawn tractor.

Standing there doing nothing was giving Stiles fits, however. As efficiently as the Hales were getting the job done, he was sure he could help it happen faster. Besides, Roscoe was _delicate_ , needed specialized care from familiar hands.

Stiles had protested he most definitely knew how to change a tire on his own Jeep and should assist, but Dad Hale wouldn’t relent and was so good-natured about it Stiles couldn’t dispute without coming across as ungrateful.

_Stupid disco era vintage shirt._

“We’ve still got time, Stiles,” Derek consoled. “They’re good at this. They’re almost done.”

They were not.

Of course then out came Cora, judgey-face clear even in twilight, and Stiles braced himself for a new assault on the remnants of his pride as well as his patience.

At first Cora merely took a position close to them, quiet for a few minutes before delivering her comment. “You two have sex in that thing?”

“ _No!”_ Derek responded, much too vehemently, as Stiles cringed.

“ _Awww,_ you know about sex,” was Stiles’s retort, as patronizing as he could sound. He’d had enough of the mean little sister act.

But when Cora only scoffed and headed to where her dad and sibling labored, Stiles felt instant remorse for his barb.

“Was that too—? Sorry if I—.” he stammered.

Derek shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. She’s just committed to her role as bane of my life.” He paused. “But just wait till _she’s_ in love—”

There might as well have been an audible record scratch, the way Derek’s voice hitched and with a significantly different tone he finished the sentence: “…then I’ll get even.”

Stiles felt kind of weightless, as if he’d been excused from the law of gravity. Maybe there were invisible cherubs elevating him, arms akimbo, into the skies, to the music of angelic choirs. Derek was in love? With _him_? Containing his smile was impossible but it was clear Derek hadn’t meant to reveal _that_ in that way, so when Derek nervously tipped his eyes at him Stiles let him see his smile but said nothing at all, just swept his hand soothingly up and down Derek’s back, so firm and warm, which reversed Stiles’s getting raptured away by cherubs because he was thinking of Derek’s naked body once again.

To free Derek from his attention Stiles looked over at the trio by his Jeep where Cora was standing. Suddenly he no longer cared if she insisted on being a brat; she was a Hale and every Hale was awesome now because Derek Hale was in love—and who was Derek Hale in love with? With _him_ , with Stiles Stilinski…

Stiles watched, impressed at how deftly Rory’s hands turned lug nuts. Rory was a prince, an awesome Hale prince. Rory never said much. The Hales were generally boisterous and Rory wasn’t. His twin, Rosy, was away for her first year at UC Davis, the school she’d chosen (which Stiles had learned after finally asking about Rory’s uniqueness) so she could stay closer to home and to her twin, who in her absence had become his dad’s shadow.

Rory never spoke to Stiles and here he was replacing Stiles’s flat tire like a real bro.

_Flat tire_ brought Stiles completely back to earth. If only his new bro were a _little_ faster.

Stiles checked his phone for the time.

The movie started in twenty two minutes.

Now Stiles was sad.

“Derek?” Talia’s voice came from behind them once again. Derek turned then realized he needed to keep the light aimed properly so he turned back. Stiles stepped aside so Talia could get close. She had keys in her hand.

“I’m so sorry I took this long to decide, boys, but—why don’t you take the Camaro?” Talia offered.

_The Camaro_ , older sister Laura’s car a.k.a. precious baby, was the slick black beauty she’d left behind while studying art and design in New York. Stiles heard about Laura Hale all the time and never in less than resplendent terms. Her drawings, paintings and photographs were all over the Hales’ home.

_The Camaro_ was spoken of as if untouchable by the non-elect. Malcolm kept it immaculate, Talia drove it to keep it running and even she confessed she felt like a bad-ass behind its wheel.

“Honey, take it. So you and Stiles don’t miss your movie.”

She exchanged the flashlight in Derek’s hands for the car keys, adding, “Just _please_ be careful with it.”

“Please” she’d emphasized with something more than standard maternal concern.

Derek replied with an ecstatic, “ _Thanks, Mom!”_ , kissed her cheek and tried to hug her close.

Malcolm had joined the little crowd and agreed with the plan, promising Stiles his Jeep would be waiting, road worthy again, when he got back from his evening out.

Over-enthusiastically shaking the man’s hand with both of his, Stiles was too excited to analyze the sincerity factor of his “Thank you so much!” He then trotted over to Rory, to thank him too, actually earning a tiny smile and short handshake that had Stiles euphoric with feelings of _family_ as he hurried to _the Camaro_.

Derek was already in the driver’s seat and listening to his mom’s and dad’s last minute instructions, or advisories, or—who knew what.

No sooner in his seat Stiles saw Cora materialize from the shadows outside his window. He let it down, his grin still lingering on his face because there was something smile-like on Cora’s.

She stepped closer and, “Don’t leave any forensic evidence behind in _this_ car,” was all she grumbled.

Stiles attempted not to scowl, without a word just let the window roll back up, secured his seat belt and stared ahead until Talia called his name. She’d ducked down to look past Derek and was smiling at Stiles, blew him a kiss and said, “Bye bye, sweetie,” which made Stiles’s heart flip-flop a little. Then, to an obligatory cry of “Be careful!” _the Camaro_ got onto the road.

A few seconds passed when Derek asked, “What’d my sister say to you?”

“Oh,” Stiles answered, a lilt in his voice, “she said she really hoped we enjoyed the pleasantest of evenings.”

Derek laughed liked a loon.

(1)

“No, really. What’d she say to you?” Derek repeated once he’d stopped laughing enough to speak.

“She warned me— _us_ —to not leave ‘forensic evidence’ in the car.”

Stiles could’ve gone off on what a menace Derek’s kid sister _thought_ she was, but the expression on his boyfriend’s face was much more intriguing.

“‘Forensic evidence…’ _you_ _know_ ,” Stiles prodded, “DNA… ‘precious bodily fluids’… _spooge_ —”

Derek cut off the last word with an abrupt “ _I know_ ,” but didn’t say anything more. He appeared trying to focus and kept his eyes on the road.

_That_ commandeered Stiles’s focus.

Sexy-voice came with experience and Stiles had approximately none, but the sight of Derek at the wheel of the muscle car stirred him up, _for real_. The husky rasp in his voice was spontaneous and genuine.

“Do you know how sexy you look driving this thing?”

Stiles swore Derek gulped, but then deflected. “Do _you_ know we have about five minutes until the movie starts?”

Stiles huffed. If there weren’t a console between them he’d reach for a handful of Derek’s package. _That_ might switch his priorities. Maybe.

But Derek loved his old, old movies. And Stiles loved… loved a happy Derek. He’d behave, for now.

Derek’s favorite movie house was in the barely thriving business district of another small town neighboring Beacon Hills. It was not far away but traffic lights, local speed limits, turns this way and that chipped away precious time. Once they reached their destination’s block the first thing Stiles noticed was how many parking spaces there were on the street, a sight very rare for a weekend evening.

“Hey,” he cheered, “a lucky break finally!”

“ _No_ ,” Derek mourned.

Then Stiles realized why: The theater marquee was dark; the entire theater front was dark.

“What the _flock!”_

Derek stopped the car and Stiles hopped out, running to the locked glass doors where he read a hastily scrawled, taped-on note: “ _Closed due to emergency repairs. Sorry for inconvenience!”_

“ _Whyyyy?”_ Stiles wailed.

Next door was a nail salon, also dark but as posted on its business-hours sign that would be normal. On the theater’s other side a weird old book store Stiles remembered sometimes still had lights on even into the night, when they’d pass it after a movie, was closed too. He didn’t check any further.

When Stiles got back in the car Derek was on his phone, listening.

“I called their number,” he explained. “All I get’s their ‘now showing’ recording.”

“Half the street’s shut down, Derek, and the sign says ‘closed for emergency repairs.’ Something major must’ve happened.”

Derek tilted back his head and looked defeated. “ _Ffffuuuuck_ ,” he groaned.

“Fuck” was not a word issuing from Derek’s mouth all that often. Stiles knew what disappointment it conveyed and he felt a pang of sympathy, pursing his lips to show it. He wasn’t really sure Derek would appreciate or find “how funny” his pointing out the irony of everything that had occurred: Stiles’s arriving way ahead of time, fidgeting through a surprise dinner, fuming through delay by a flat tire with last minute deliverance by the loan of _the Camaro_ —only to finally reach their goal and find it all for nothing.

He wasn’t going to invite Derek to appreciate the irony either.

Instead Stiles leaned toward him, locking eyes. He stretched one arm round Derek’s slumping shoulders, reached into Derek’s lap and took his hand, which still held his phone.

“I’m sorry—” He wanted to add, “babe” or “boo” but checked himself. Truth was, Stiles didn’t mind that the movie was out because Derek’s company was enough for him.

Stiles’s problem was how to say that and not sound like he didn’t care Derek was disappointed.

“ _Kiss?”_ was his solution.

It was the best kiss since the night had begun, hours ago. Even better, Derek’s little smile told Stiles somebody’s mind was changing about everything.

Foreheads together, “Who needs a movie, right?” Stiles murmured.

Derek hiccupped a little giggle. They kissed again, still parked in the desolate street.

Stiles had let Derek lead the way the first time they’d ever made out, not because he was being the bashful virgin but because respecting boundaries seemed important to the Derek Stiles knew then.

Stiles felt _so_ _much_ bolder now.

“You know we’re in a notorious sex car,” he insinuated, novice seducer but also quick learner.

“But,” Derek hesitated, “What about… ‘ _evidence’?”_

“Pfft! I am the son of a sheriff. Been eliminating evidence for years, Derek, _years_.”

Maybe Stiles had never felt more confident than when he said that.

Derek sat back a little, wobbled his head and waggled his eyebrows.

There was without a doubt a way to salvage their evening.

(+1)

Parked in some secret space among the trees of the Hale Preserve the Camaro’s black color made it one with the night around it.

The Camaro’s back seat, compared to Roscoe’s, felt like a room, Stiles thought. Yeah, there was a hump in the middle of it but the way he and Derek had situated themselves, the hump was not a problem.

Problem? There were no problems.

Stiles sat on the passenger side of the back seat with Derek cross-wise, his head and a little more of him in Stiles’s lap.

The final blow to their date-night plans had been a fatality Stiles felt no cause to mourn. Why should he mourn, with his hand around Derek’s hard dick?

Derek’s nice black shirt with white stripes lay plopped in the driver’s seat. And, _oh yes_ , Derek’s going commando had been a _spectacular_ idea, the best idea in the history of ideas, because now with his pants pushed down past his knees—in fact bunched at his ankles now—he was naked in Stiles’s arms.

Even with dark-adjusted eyesight Derek’s nude body made only a ghostly impression in Stiles’s eyes, but Stiles’s hand was having a tactile feast.

While his right hand combed through Derek’s hair, Stiles kept up non-stop, ever-varying kisses, sometimes noisy, sloppy, wet, sometimes with their mouths sealed together, sometimes with Stiles’s lips pressing all over Derek’s face and Derek kissing whatever part of Stiles’s face he could.

They’d achieved the next level of kissing.

Stiles’s other hand had kneaded across Derek’s pectorals, tenderly scratched through the hair sprouting between them. He’d felt his way down Derek’s bare torso, dallying along his abdominal muscles, fingering his belly button then spreading out all his fingers into Derek’s wiry pubes.

Derek had been heartily jerking his dick until Stiles’s hand made contact, then he let Stiles take hold. He moaned into Stiles’s mouth with the new sensation and his body wrenched at the same time.

From the couple of clumsy hand-jobs they’d exchanged in the Jeep’s cramped back seat Stiles had learned his dick didn’t respond to his boyfriend’s grip the way it did to his own, and he figured he was probably more likely to leave Derek chafed than spurting out a load with a mind-shattering orgasm. He felt skillful at pleasuring himself only.

Their anatomies were still mostly mysteries to one another.

Now Stiles had all of Derek to explore and, oh, how he wanted to.

Before making any other move he rubbed his thumb over Derek’s dick head. The reaction was instant: Derek’s hips thrust up. He whined then freed his mouth from Stiles’s to gasp aloud.

“Like that?” Stiles growled, their lips close again.

“Oh yeah,” Derek panted. “I _like_ …” Whatever more he’d wanted to say was lost in another pant.

Stiles maintained a slow, circular motion. Soon enough Derek resumed jerking off in what was surely his tried and true style.

His hand kept bumping into Stiles’s though so to get it out of the way Stiles lifted off. Derek whimpered at the absence but Stiles dropped that hand gently down to Derek’s balls, caressing and rolling them delicately.

Derek _moaned_ , sped up his stroking.

Stiles didn’t need to ask if it was good; he asked only, “Can I do something?”

“ _Yeah_.” Derek didn’t even question what. “Yeah, _please_.”

Quickly slicking his middle finger with spit Stiles returned to Derek’s ball-sack, this time letting the wet finger probe further, seeking out the butt-hole’s lair.

Stiles wondered for a second would it be too much. Would Derek object, jolt upright and put an end to the festivities.

He didn’t.

“This OK?” Stiles whispered.

Derek hissed, “ _Yes!”_ and his breaths came faster.

So Stiles slid his finger till it reached the tender pucker. He fingered himself a lot but Derek he’d just touch and tantalize.

Only seconds remained; Stiles could tell when he felt Derek’s balls start to tighten, the litany of little cries, “ _Oh, Stiles—Oh, fuh—Oh, god_ —” getting frantic.

Stiles stroked his finger over Derek’s hole to a rhythm in time to Derek’s jacking, until Derek climaxed, his body taut and twitching, his face contorted, something between a groan and a drawn out whine leaving Stiles amazed at how hard Derek had come.

Stiles stopped moving when Derek did.

Exhaling like a runner, “Wow,” Derek croaked, still barely recovered. “That was—that was— _whew!”_

“On a scale of one to ten,” Stiles asked.

“Nine and a half.”

“Aww!” Stiles protested. “I was sure that was a solid ten!”

“Gotta leave ya with something to work for, don’t I?”

It was such a good answer Stiles had no comeback. His thoughts jumped ahead as he listened to Derek’s breathing return to normal.

“Ya know, since we’re… dropping our speed limit…”

Stiles could see Derek’s eyebrows knit, their faces were so close.

“Remember?” Stiles clarified. “You said we didn’t have to take things slow?”

“OK?”

“My dad works overnight shifts sometimes, some weekends. You could always come over one of those nights and we could, you know...” He let the sentence trail away.

“Have sex?” Derek finished. “In your bed?”

Stiles gasped, feigning surprise, “ _Ohmygod_ , it’s like you read my mind!”

Using the hand he’d jerked off with, which he wiped against his chest, Derek pushed down Stile’s head so they could kiss more. The initial long one resolved into short smooches.

“I want to blow you,” Derek declared after a smooch.

Stiles would’ve bolted upright if Derek’s hand on his head hadn’t stopped him.

“ _What?”_

“I want. To blow you.” He enunciated precisely.

“You—”

It wasn’t that Stiles hadn’t heard, of course, or didn’t understand or didn’t believe Derek. He was just surprised, _really_ surprised, _again_.

With a finger on Stiles’s chin Derek pushed the still open, speechless mouth closed. Then he groped around on the floor for the travel pack of wet wipes.

Before setting off for the hide-out in the Preserve they’d stopped at a gas station, for some water, the wet wipes, a paper towel roll, a granola bar for Derek and for Stiles another pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

Soon as Derek pulled out the first wipe Stiles said, “I’ve got some evidence on my arm.”

Derek gave him the wipe. “Let’s not keep calling it that, _please_.”

“Sure thing, _mi amor_ ,” Stiles wisecracked, realizing too late he too just said the l-word.

But they were in the dark, between sex acts, and Derek was wiping off semen from his stomach and chest. An obviously important conversation would be really awkward if they began it just then.

So they didn’t.

When he felt clean enough Derek attempted to move into a seated position. That was awkward enough. His pants were binding him at the ankles.

“You know what,” he began and Stiles was sure “Forget it” was going to follow. Instead Derek leaned over, reaching, Stiles thought, incorrectly again, to pull his pants up, _not_ to push off his loafers and then free himself from his chinos altogether, which is what was happening.

He folded them roughly in half and pitched them into the passenger seat.

Derek was naked. Again. Naked _er_ —there was no towel this time.

Naked _est_.

Stiles’s hard-on had been up and down during all their fooling around. Now it was back though still mostly confined, uncomfortably too, in his pants.

While Derek clambered onto his knees, so his head was about lined up with Stiles’s lap, Stiles got his pants down far enough he could spread his legs a bit. His 70’s disco era vintage shirt he unbuttoned completely but kept on.

Derek gently stroked up and down Stiles’ very stiff dick, and asked, “You OK?”

“Yeah—” Stiles almost meeped.

Derek kissed him.

“You don’t seem OK.—You want this?”

“ _Yes!_ —It’s just—I—”

After another kiss Derek waited, whispered, “What?”

“I may only last about three seconds!”

It merited another kiss. Then Derek reached to the floor again, coming up with a bottle of water. He offered it to Stiles first, who drank a few swallows, his mouth utterly dry. Derek drank, re-capped the bottle and rested it against the seat-back.

One more kiss, the assurance “However little or long you last is OK,” the request “Just let me know before…”, the admission that he didn’t actually know what he was doing, and down went Derek’s head.

Stiles had seen cock-sucking in porn, of course. He still wondered how it was possible since he’d stuck his longest fingers into his mouth, far as they’d go, and gagged every single time.

Imagining how to do it was one thing, imagining what it felt li—

_Oh— **that’s** what it felt like!_

The water had cooled Derek’s mouth hardly at all, then the startling heat and wetness surrounding the top of Stiles’s dick had him thinking he may have seriously over-estimated the three seconds’ duration.

Whatever Derek was doing, with his mouth, with his tongue—it felt _incredible_.

Derek had practiced too, though never with items even close to his own dick’s measurements, and never very effectively either, he realized, because they were always various food items and he always ended up biting into and then eating them.

Stiles’s erect dick was not porn-star sized but definitely on the plus side of average, in both length and girth. Derek could get his mouth down barely halfway. Still, he was determined; he wanted something memorable about giving his first blow-job.

After some increasingly deeper bobs and juicier slurps Derek heard Stiles screech his name. He popped off the dick, Stiles’s fist urgently clenched around the head and accompanied by almost painful sounding “ _Oh’s,_ ” Stiles’s seed spilled over his curled fingers.

He fell back against the seat and panted, “Oh, fuck. Fuck.— _Fuck_.”

With a fresh wet wipe Derek carefully cleaned off Stiles’s hand.

Stiles couldn’t see how adoringly he was being smiled at.

“I’m sorry. That was, like, embarrassingly fast,” he wheezed.

Derek’s sole regret was he hadn’t been able to get much practice with the real thing, though he was pretty sure now he’d get more chances.

“Did you enjoy it?” was all he wanted to know.

Stiles nodded, feeling too abashed and vulnerable to make a joke. “Can we cuddle?” was his request

“Of _course_.”

“Will you stay naked?”

Getting the water bottle out of the way Derek snuggled up close as he could get, pulling Stiles so they leaned together.

“Of course.”

Stiles put one arm around Derek’s neck. The other he let snake uncertainly along Derek’s leg until Derek took it.

“You want to touch my dick?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t object.”

He laid Stiles’s hand over what was now a semi, something to hold onto. In Stiles’s mind, never a place where the usual happened, he thought “security dick” when he realized he actually felt settled and calm and happy.

“You’re very attractive,” he told Derek, like they were meeting for the first time.

Derek went along. “So are you.”

“Not like you.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Am not.”

Derek kissed him. “Yes. You are. You have eyes—” Derek paused, just long enough for Stiles to inject:

“Two of ‘em. It’s very common.”

“Stop it. Your eyes—they make me think of this little statue one of my aunts had, when I was little.” Derek knew he couldn’t pause again. “It was an antique, I think, from China. She kept it on this shelf with all these other little things I wasn’t allowed to touch. But I wanted to, so I’d get close as I could till I got chased away. But I remember the sun shining on this one little statue and it… glowed. It was transparent. It was carved from amber. Your eyes glow like that sometimes, like amber.”

Stiles stayed silent, felt like he might cry.

So of course he had to break the enchantment.

“I was gonna say your eyes are like galaxies as observed by the Hubble Space Telescope.—But your story’s better.”

“It’s not a contest,” Derek replied. “But, I win. Therefore—you’re beautiful.”

“Because I have statue eyes.”

“Because you have statue eyes. Two of ‘em.”

“It’s very common.”

Derek pulled him into another kiss, in part to keep him quiet, but only in part.

When they separated Stiles let go the dick and let his hand wander soothingly over Derek’s cool skin.

“I can’t wait to do this in my room. In my bed.”

“You’ll take all your clothes off too?”

“Ehhh, I might keep on my lucky hat.”

“Stiles—” Derek battled not to laugh. “I’m not—” He changed the subject. “So when’s your dad’s next night shift?—Does he have a schedule? So we can plan?”

Stiles sat up abruptly. “Oh no, no, no, no. We’re never planning anything again. Never. Uhn-uhn. My dad’ll leave for his shift, I’ll give you a call and ask, ‘Hey Derek, by any chance you feel like dropping by for a few hours of wanton, totally naked sex?’ and you’ll say ‘Let me think about it, Stiles. Why, yeah, sure, can do. See you in a few.’”

“Stiles,” Derek tried to interrupt, failing.

“We’re gonna be those two guys who live—and date—spontaneously, off the cuff, by the seat of our pants.”

“But if we’re totally naked we won’t be _wearing_ pants.”

“Or cuffs.— _Unless_ —?” He held up his hands, wrists close.

“Why don’t you want to plan?” Derek cut in, refusing to follow another of his boyfriend’s paths to nowhere, and to get back to the point.

“Look at everything that interfered with and finally annihilated our plan tonight.”

“This is the first time it’s ever happened!—And look, we had a great night!” Derek snuggled even closer. “Look how it ended. I’m _naked_ in the back seat of a car with you.” He rubbed his head along Stiles’s shoulder though his sexy eyebrow jiggles were pretty much lost in the dark.

“My point exactly. We didn’t _plan_ this. We planned to see a movie about an insurance salesman who falls for a sexy married _femme fatale_. They kill her husband—”

“So you _did_ look up the movie!” Derek pouted.

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles confessed. “I—I… watched it. Online.—You’re aware we can find all these old movies online.”

“”S not the same when you watch on a computer.” Derek preferred the total movie experience. Also, he was really pouting.

“I know, boo, I’m sorry. I watched it—just so I’d understand it! So I could share you ardent love of these cinematic masterpieces that have absolutely no CGI or superheroes in them.”

“You don’t like them?” Now Derek sounded hurt, possibly.

“I love them!” Stiles cried. “I thought already knowing the story, like you do, it would bring us closer!”

“But we already _are_ close.” Derek squeezed up against Stiles as tightly as if they were squished together in the Jeep’s back seat.

“’Closer than that,’” Stiles said.

Derek heard those particular words and felt too pleased to be upset, because Stiles had just quoted from his favorite film noir film’s famous last lines.

He shifted himself, carefully so as not to squash Stiles’s dick, and sat on his naked lap, thinking he’d switch his position in a minute or two and offer Stiles another blow-job.

“ _’I love you too_ ,’” Derek quoted back, no hitch in his voice this time. He twined his arms round Stiles’s head as he pressed their smiles together into a fierce kiss.

Before their date night ended Stiles would find it absolutely necessary to demonstrate his best evidence elimination techniques to Derek.

**Author's Note:**

> The movie Double Indemnity came out in 1944. Its last two lines, between the male leads, are "Closer than that," and "I love you too," but there's so much context missing from just those isolated quotations. I'm not going to say watch the entire movie to get the context either, since I HOPE the quotes work in the context of this story and without knowing the movie.


End file.
